


Many happy returns

by middlemarch



Category: James Bond (Craig movies)
Genre: Birthday Presents, F/M, Female Friendship, Humor, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-13
Updated: 2018-09-13
Packaged: 2019-07-11 21:30:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 835
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15980900
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/middlemarch/pseuds/middlemarch
Summary: No one sang "Happy Birthday" off-key.





	Many happy returns

**Author's Note:**

  * For [tessaquayle](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tessaquayle/gifts).



Q had left a mug-full of dark chocolate covered espresso beans and Moneypenny had disclosed the esthetician she used. James had winked at her while eating a banana very slowly—the banana-consumption, not the winking, and Gareth had woken her with a kiss on the cheek, a tray of a pot of Lady Grey tea, scones, and an obscene amount of Devonshire cream and raspberry jam. All in all, Vivian had counted it a successful birthday, well before Gareth texted her.

Reservations at Cassowary 7pm under Liu

Vivian wasn’t sure why he’d texted her and not simply told her, but the man was a spy after all and he must be forgiven his default tendency towards subterfuge. It wouldn’t have been her choice, to take a black car to the restaurant by herself, presumably to meet him, but she had to accept the gift from the giver. The solo trip did allow her to touch up her face without him watching or interrupting and if she shucked off her heels within seconds of sitting down, there was no one to tell tales.

It became clear why he’d texted when she walked into the restaurant, whose use of feathers in the décor was just this side of exuberant.

“Amy! What? How—what are you doing here?” Vivian exclaimed. Amy, her best friend from college, was fully kitted out in the latest pieces from the latest Boden catalog plus a statement necklace that Vivian would probably tell her was too chunky after their second glass of wine.

“I’m your present. From Gareth, who by the way, yum if I’m allowed to say that,” Amy said after the brief, tight hug they exchanged but before they started in on the first glass of wine.

“You are, and yes. And what?”

“He tracked me down and arranged for me to come in for the weekend. As a surprise for your birthday,” Amy said.

“I can’t believe it,” Vivian said, though it did explain the time she’d caught him fumbling with her phone and some of the appraising glances he’d been shooting her way. She had chalked those up to lust or an assessment of how she’d hold up at The Hague, if they actually had to go. Amy’s arrival was an extremely pleasant alternative.

“Seeing is believing. I’m here for the weekend, put up at Claridge’s by your knight-errant, and there are a pair of tickets to Hamilton waiting for us at the box office tomorrow night,” Amy said.

“Holy shit,” Vivian blurted out. To say he’d gone all out was an understatement.

“Yeah, I thought so too,” Amy said, slugging back the last of her first glass as if it were cheap supermarket wine-in-a-box instead of a very fine 1971 Chateau Trotanoy. “Nice to know you haven’t gone full Brit. I was afraid you were going to say ‘bloody hell,’ just then.”

“No worries on that account,” Vivian laughed. “Gareth would be the first to tell you how American I am.”

“I don’t think he would. I don’t think he can find much of anything wrong with you, Vivi,” Amy said.

“Should he?”

“I’m just saying, however stiff that delicious upper lip is, the man’s bonkers for you. He’d probably say ‘besotted,’ especially if he’s fond of Peter Wimsey novels,” Amy said. Vivian smiled at what Amy said and how. She hadn’t known just how much she missed her friend, but Gareth had.

“Before I forget, he asked me to give you this. I’m going to the ladies’ room for a few minutes, so you can check it out in private, and then we can really catch up,” Amy said, handing Vivian a box wrapped in silver wrapping paper that resembled silk so closely, Vivian couldn’t help stroking a finger along the seams. The card was brief, in Gareth’s terrifyingly elegant copperplate hand.

Dearest Vivian,  
Happy birthday. I felt certain you could find a use for these.

Gareth

She quickly unwrapped the box, lifted the lid and saw a half dozen utterly exquisite silk scarves from Hermès. The colors were rich, more Rubens than Vermeer. Each one would look beautiful with a suit or a well-cut wool sheath, but after touching the one that lay on top, she knew Gareth meant them for another purpose and she caught her breath at the image of each one carefully knotted at his bare wrists and ankles. Never a blindfold, not after Belfast, but as long as he could watch her…

“Do you need a moment alone?” Amy said, all the snarkiness undercut by the longest, warmest affection and the amusement of a woman married for over twelve years. Vivian huffed a little, like she was supposed to. 

“Good, because I’m hungry—for food. The rest of that, that’ll keep. Though I won’t be annoyed if you want to skip dessert tonight and hurry home,” Amy added.

“Oh, you,” Vivian said happily, glad she was just as old as she was, for the benefits were clearly significant, incomparable, and utterly delightful.


End file.
